


Bloody Bandages

by SilverCrane



Series: Requests!:)) [2]
Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: M/M, Mentions of previous injury, Someone gets stabbed, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 10:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20406409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCrane/pseuds/SilverCrane
Summary: Racetrack Higgins is a dumbass.It's a well-known fact in both the Manhattan lodging house and the Brooklyn one.Racetrack Higgins is a dumbass with a penchant for getting himself into sticky situations, but he always manages to find his way home.But what happens if he never makes it back?





	Bloody Bandages

**Author's Note:**

> This is for galaxytrees13 on Tumblr who requested Sprace angst! I really hope you enjoy this :)

It's well after midnight when Hot Shot knocks on his door, letting herself in. She has a worried look on her face, quite uncharacteristic, and Spot immediately stops what he's doing.

"Kelly's here." She begins, running a hand through her short hair. "Says Higgins never came back, wanted to know if he's spendin' the night."

Spot shoots to his feet, alarm filling his body. "Race never went back?" He scans his brain for any signs of something wrong. Race had seemed perfectly normal that day, better than usual even. They'd spent a few hours chatting before Spot needed to go.

Hot Shot shakes her head. "That's what he said."

Spot inhales sharply, grabbing his cane from the side on his bed. "God dammit." He pushes past Hot Shot, beginning his decent. "Hot Shot, wake the kids. We're gonna need all the manpower we can get." Hot Shot nods, heading off to wake the rest of the Brooklyn kids. Spot continues his decent downwards, mentally cursing his decision to pick the highest room.

"Spot!" Jack immediately shoots to his feet when Spot enters the room, hat in his hands.

"Kelly." He nods, acknowledging Jack's presence. "Higgins never came back?"

Jack shakes his head, worrying the hat between his fingers. "No. He said he might be out late, but even he usually comes back 'fore ten. It's well past three now."

Spot nods, chewing his lip. "I'm sendin' my kids out now. They'll find him."

A relieved look spreads across Jack's face, and he grabs Spot's hand, shaking it vigorously. "Oh thank you so much!"

"Kelly?"

"Yeah Spot?"

"Get your hands off me." Jack obliges, taking a few steps back for good measure. Spot scowls, adjusting his suspenders.

He has a newsie to find.

The sun is starting to rise when Myron runs up to him, chest heaving and eyes wild.

"We found 'im." He huffs, and Spot is off, running as fast as he possibly can.

His leg is killing him by the time he gets back to the lodging house, but he doesn't stop, bursting into the common room.

"Where is he?" He directs the question at Vince, sitting quietly on one of the rickety chairs. His hands are stained with blood, never a good sign.

_ In there._ He signs, and Spot silently thanks him, pushing the doors to the kitchen open.

Hot Shot immediately shushes him, shooting him a quick glare. There's a small figure sprawled out on a table, too bloody to not be Race. Jack Kelly is positioned at the figure's head, a red-stained hand clutching his own.

"Race." He breathes, taking a few steps forward. The figure on the table, barely recognizable, lifts it's head.

"Heya Conlon." Race croaks, giving Spot a grin. "Miss me?"

Spot lets himself smile, grabbing Race's hand from Jack. "Dumbass."

Race winces, and Spot takes a second to look over his injuries.

He has a nasty looking bruise forming around his right eye, and his nose looks broken. His lip is split, although its not bleeding any more.

His torso is the worst. Most of the blood seems to be coming from there.

"He's been stabbed." Hot Shot informs matter-of-factly, soaking long strips of cloth Spot vaguely recognizes as his old shirt. "Doesn't look like they hit anythin' 'mportant though."

"Racer, what happened?" Spot asks.

Race takes a second to respond, thinking it over. "You wouldn't believe me."

"'Course I would." Spot scowls, crossing his arms.

Race rolls his eyes, wincing at the movement. "So there I was, mindin' my own business-"

"Bullshit." Spot cuts him off. Race looks offended.

"I was!" He protests, pushing himself up on an elbow. Spot is quick to push him back down, ignoring the glares he was earning from both Hot Shot and Jack.

"Yeah, okay kid." He mutters, if only to get Race to lay back down. Race huffs, staring at the ceiling.

"So there I was, mindin' my own business, when these two real mean lookin' characters come out. 'Give us your money' they say. And I say 'no'. So then one of 'em pulls out a knife and stabs me." He plays it off as a joke, but Spot can tell how shaken he is.

"You'se pretty lucky." Hot Shot comments, soaping away most of the blood. "Seein' as you'se still alive."

Race winces, forcing a laugh from his lips. "Yeah." The room falls into an awkward silence, and Spot fiddles with his cane absentmindedly.

Hot Shot finally finishes soaping up the blood, standing up with a huff. "You can bandage him up, I'm done here." She pushes the small pile of bandages towards Soot, who takes them gratefully. Hot Shot leaves, dragging Jack along with her.

And then they're alone.

"Guess we match now, huh?" Race jokes from the table, eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I don't know what you mean, Racer." Spot answers carefully, beginning to bandage Race's abdomen.

"You with your bullet wound and me with my stab wound." Race clarifies. Almost on cue, Spot's leg begins to ache. He winces, reaching a hand down to rub his knee.

"Think I'll get a cool scar?" Race jokes, pushing himself up on his elbows.

"Racetrack I swear to God, if you don't lie back down I'll murder you." Spot says through gritted teeth, grabbing a new bandage.

"Jokes on you, I'm immortal. Proof: I just got stabbed, and I'm not dead."

Spot inhales sharply, pulling the bandage tighter than he meant to. Race lets out a small noise of pain. "Sorry."

Race shakes his head. "Don't be. 'S fine."

"I was just- so worried." He admits, voice shaking slightly. "And here you are, makin' it into one big joke?" 

Race averts his eyes. "If I don't joke, I don't think I can hold myself together." He says quietly. For the first time, Spot notices his hands are shaking.

"Are you in pain?" He asks carefully, studying Race. Spot doesn't remember much from when he was shot, only the white-hot searing pain, and how it took him forever to learn how to walk again. He didn't want Race to deal with that too.

Race shrugs. "Not 's much 's I thought." He goes quiet, eyes flicking up to meet Spot's. "I think I'm scared, Spot."

Spot pauses, taking one of Race's hands and gently squeezing it. "You're okay now, Racer." He says softly, leaning close to Race. "I won't let them hurt you again."

Race manages a smile, leaning up and kissing Spot softly on the lips. Spot lets him, lowering his head so Race wouldn't have to sit up.

"Love you, Spottie." He says, a little louder than Spot wants.

"Shh, Racer. These walls ain't that thick." He says softly. Race rolls his eyes, grabbing one of Spot's hands.

"Spottie, it's early in the mornin', ain't nobody awake." Race pouts. "'Sides. I just got stabbed. Ain't you gonna comfort me?" He flutters his eyelashes.

Spot sighs, rolling his eyes. He leans down anyways, giving Race a small peck on the cheek. "You're a fuckin' dumbass, Racer."

Race grins, threading his fingers between Spot's. "Yeah, and you love me for it."

"Maybe." Spot grins, giving Race's hand a small squeeze before pulling away. "You should rest."

Race pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. "Stay with me?" He asks, using his puppy-dog eyes he knows Spot can't resist.

"Fine." Spot sighs, threading his fingers through Race's again. He pulls up a chair, sitting in it. "But you gotta try to sleep."

Race rolls his eyes. "You sound like my mother."

"Race, you don't know your mother." Spot deadpans, earning a glare from Race.

"You sound like Davey's mother!" He corrects.

Spot inhales sharply. "Just go to bed, Racer."

Race sticks his tongue out. "Fine." He gives his cheek a single pat, wiggling his eyebrows at Spot suggestively. Spot sighs, leaning over and giving him a quick peck.

"You're lucky I love you, dumbass." He mutters.

Race grins. "Love you too, Spottie."

**Author's Note:**

> Have a great day! Remember, my Tumblr I silvercrane14, and I love talking to you guys! If you have any questions or requests, feel free to ask!


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